by Sylvia Plath
my work at the hampshire gazette is as profitable as I want to make it. I’m getting a precious byline for my writeups of all the Northampton seniors who are graduating,* and just interviewed the one girl* from Smith who is joining the marines and wrote up a 6-page article on her. Besides teaching me alot about people, and getting pay for it, I’m keeping clippings of my reviews and such for possible job leads later . . . never can tell when all my news office experience will come in handy – I’ve gotten in the habit of writing pithy, concise paragraphs, and the style is becoming pleasantly natural. Last night I ushered at a delightful performance of “Ring Round the Moon” and tonight I wrote up a review of it and phoned it collect just now to the Springfield Union, where I read it word by word to the man at the teletype. I don’t think I could ever get blasé about working with writing. It’s such fun – the man at the Gazette showed me all around the shop today. I also just totted up my year’s earnings and found I’ve cleared $170 so far this year. When you think of it, 2 hours a day of work is a respectable amount!
They’re being very cryptic about changing my exam from the fatal June 1. I managed to worm out of the Registrar that “it’s all right” to plan to go to NYC the 31st, but as to the verdict of the Administrative Board about when my exam is, she won’t tell me till next week as my case is “very peculiar.” God Knows what that means. I’ll call at the beginning of the week if there is any drastic change in plans.
xxx
sivvy
TO Aurelia Schober Plath
Friday 15 May 1953*
TLS with envelope, on Smith
Review Make-Up Sheet letterhead,
Indiana University
Friday morning . . . rain
Dearest mother . . .
One nice thing about rainy days . . . I’m sure of getting some studying done instead of lolling amidst dogwood blossoms on the sunroof next door.
I don’t know what I’d do if I didn’t have such a wonderful and understanding mother as you are. Your letters are a constant joy. I hope your decision about resting up this summer becomes final immediately. Considered rationally, your working would be absurd. Next fall you want to start work rested and healthy, and you need a backlog of relaxing in the sun in our yard, reading magazines, tanning, and having lovely talks with me when I come home on weekends from summer school. You should be able to be a rested mother all summer as your fledglings are now able to take care of themselves financially.
The carfare and just the mechanics of daily teaching are formidable. I forbid you to work this summer! Also, Mrs. Norton can thusly just swallow her nasty correlation of my loafing at summer school and your slaving in the same city. I may be naive, but I am not selfish. I would give up summer school at a moment’s notice if it were necessary financially. However, with the training and openings it may well provide, and with my earnings of $1000 in the past year alone through writing ($500 MLLE, $250 SEVENTEEN, $100 Harper’s, $$170 News office) I hardly need to stoop to waitressing or fileclerking.
I hope maybe you can write a bit this summer, articles about your teaching job, or about medical shorthand opportunities for one of the women’s magazines. They like things like that, vocational slants, and with your knowledge, and your lectures for classes, you could make your work salable twice. I’d love to edit for you. Also, at leisure, you might take a few of your many experiences and try the True Confession market again. Not that I’m plugging the field, but once you got the formula, you could make tidy sums and the more you did it the easier it would be. Of course sharpening up writing again, once it’s rusty, is very painful and almost prohibitive, as the “Oh, why should I waste my time doing something that will never be published” attitude is easy to have. But you deserve to pamper yourself increasingly now that the hardest 20 years of your life are over, and you deserve all the returns you can get from your wonderful selfless work and help to Warren and me, who love and admire you more than anyone else in the world. You have managed to create a warm, loving, intelligent, family unit, where pride and love in mutual achievement makes us all very close. I never know anyone for long before I start holding forth with pride about grammy and grampy and you and Warren. Smith and all the opportunities now opening only make me want to affirm* my rich heritage all the more!
If my True Story offers anything substantial, I would like to treat the three of us to a week in a cabin down the Cape at the end of the summer . . . that has long been a private little dream of mine!
I wrote immediately to MLLE asking permissions to go to Warren’s graduation. I love that boy so that I couldn’t bear not to be there or to disappoint him. The only thing that bothered me was the expense involved. I don’t see how they can refuse my request, and so tell Warren that I’m working hard at coming.
Between the three of us we’ll show the Norton’s that we are all paragons of forgiving selflessness.
Love to grammy, grampy, and specially you . . . .
I insist that you be a scandalously dilettante mother this coming summer!
best love,
sivvy
p.s. Bought that tremendously stylish raincoat – gray mixture with lush pink lining – that can double as coat & duster – so much more practical than black which would have to be spot cleaned!
xxx
sivvy
TO Aurelia Schober Plath
Monday 18 May 1953*
TLS on Smith Review Make-Up
Sheet letterhead, Indiana University
Monday morning
Dear mother . . . .
Your era of opportunity sounds like work, but I too am sure you will do a good job. Humor and emphasis on the past indignities of women, as contrast to the wealth of job opportunities to-day, should make the address an excellent one.
It amuses me that your deadline, May 26, is the same as mine from MLLE, who just wrote me my first assignment for a two page spread on five young teacher-poets.* Needless to say, it’s a big challenge to condense information in catching, vital captions, and to do research on such relatively obscure people, plus layout, which I’ve never done before. It of course comes at a very crowded time, and it will be nice to be able to devote myself wholeheartedly to the magazine in June without worrying about academic obligations.
Yesterday, a gloomy sunday, the R. G. Davises invited me over to dinner again, as they had a pretty Polish girl who had worked for them last summer and is going to be a freshman at Smith next year coming also. I stayed till four, enjoyed sherry, a good dinner, strawberry shortcake and converstaion and the two absolutely beautiful children.* Mrs. Davis is an intriguing woman, and next year, at the beginning of school, I am going to make an appointment to interview her. She has just sold a story to McCall’s, was once editor of a True Story magazine, writes True Stories, and used to write for the New Yorker. She writes and manages a home and a brilliant husband all admirably, and they live down the Cape in the summer. Tentatively she recommended my Not writing True Stories, as that market is a heartbreaking one with even more competition than the good literary markets . . . and my getting a job where I will learn about people and life . . . which is a good bit of advice, one which concerns me . . . should an embryonic writer go on to school work in publishing (she says no) or get any kind of job and write on the side. If I could write about my work and the people in it, I would be happy no matter what I was doing.
This summer at MLLE I am going to take private polls on my questions. They will probably have a “jobs and Futures” panel again, and I’ll have a chance to fin-d out a lot there.
Myron came up Saturday afternoon, and our goodbye day together was a most pleasant one. First we climbed to the house at the very top of Mount Holyoke and basked in the sun and surveyed the lovely green world for a while. Then we drove to springfield, and I sat for an hour and a half watching him pitch batting practice to his brothers team, the Springfield Cubs. After which I took him to see float night on the banks of Paradise, which is always ver
y impressive with the singing from the Island, the colored lanterns all reflecting in the pond, and the pretty canoe floats. Then I treated us both to a steak dinner at the college diner at about 10.30, after which we went for a drive, had a good talk, and said so long.
I finally brought up the subject of Dick and the Nortons, because I was damned if I was going to have him go away for the summer with a lot of distortions festering in his head. He was very sweet as I explained a few things. Also said that he thought I was “eugenically minded” and thus should very well feel wary of picking a tubercular-prone husband for my children, which I thought was very understanding. Anyhow, I got that subject out in the open, and feel better about it.
Tuesday, dear Mary Ellen Chase has invited me over to her house for coffee with a few other girls before she goes up to her place in Maine. I must love her and have enjoyed these conversational sessions no end. The English department here is the best in the U.S. as far as I’m concerned, and the faculty is superlative anyway. Next year I really want to concentrate on academic work, as it is a very difficult and crucial year.
Tuesday night, we’re taking Miss Drew out for dinner. She also is a most brilliant and lovely woman . . . very friendly with Auden, who is leaving this week after a final speech tonight.*
The registrar is very cryptic about my exam, as I went in again today and she won’t tell me anything about when my exam is. I told her I was planning to go home Thursday, and she said to come in again tomorrow. So if there are any last minute changes, I’ll have to call, I guess. If you don’t hear from me, just come up the way we’ve planned.
Have two very nice black bylines in the Hampshire Gazette this week . . . one for my interview of the Smith marine-to-be and the other for writeups of the Northampton seniors to graduate. Also my review (without byline) of the play was printed in the Springfield Union . . . I’m going to keep my clippings all together in case I ever need them for a job. They should come in handy, as they show my “versatility”.
The “New Yorker” rejected my last batch of poems, so I am going to let them rest for a while, and try some really special poetry writing slanted to them this summer if I can. Maybe I’ll try some prose, if anything good evolves out of Frank O’Connor’s course. More than anything now, I realize I have to Live and Work with People . . . instead of forever being sheltered in this blissful academic environment where all the girls are the same age and have the same general range of nervous tensions and problems. My summer experiences have proved most versatile in story-background data.
Enclosed is a vitamin bill. Can insurance pay it?
xxxx
sivvy
TO Warren Plath
Thursday 21 May 1953*
TLS (photocopy),
Indiana University
Thursday . . . just this minute got home . . . .
Dear broad jumper . . .
(Whenever I tell anyone what a good broad jumper you are they invariably say: “How many broads can he jump at once?”) This is mainly to tell you that I will be up at Andover before the meet Saturday to cheer you on. I hope I can find out from liddle boys where the track or whatever you jump on is. I will be most eager to see you in action! It will be more than fun to drive home with you and get in a good talk.
I’m coming home between exams, and MLLE just sent me a whopping assignment which I have to do right away this weekend. It’s a blurb, caption and two-page spread on five young-teacher-poets, and a plum of an assignment, but a hell of a lot of quick work which has to be off for a monday deadline.
On Tuesday, I’m interviewing Elizabeth Bowen,* the famous Anglo-Irish writer, who will be in Cambridge* for the day, and having my picture taken with her. Which means I have to read several novels and stories about Her before Tuesday.
All during this time I have to wash, iron and array and pack clothes for my trip. A week from Saturday I have my Milton exam for which I have a month’s back work to do. I shall probably flub it and get an abysmal B which will infuriate me no end as I’ve gotten all A’s for the first time this year so far.
Anyhow, add all these things together and you will get a harassed sister. I’m looking for’ard to sleeping while I’m home as I’m real exhausted. So be prepared to see me wukkin away at the typewriter this weekend, and reading like mad. If I get all these things published in MLLE it will get me a tremendous reputation.
By the by, in our last award assembly, I find I got the Two Poetry prizes* in the college. Money is involved, Thank the Lord, but I’m not sure how much yet. Mebbe even another $100. Or suthin.
So I’m slaving this week, but it’s all worth it.
See you Saturday, rain or shine.
Much love . . .
your own sivvy.
TO Aurelia Schober Plath
Wednesday 3 June 1953*
ALS with envelope,
on Mademoiselle letterhead,
Indiana University
9:30 Wednesday night*
Dear mother . . .
So incredibly much has happened so quick and so fast these last 3 days that I have been too tired to do more than drop into bed at night without a thought of correspondence. For the first time I feel that I can look around me and assimilate (not just gape in amaze at) all that goes on around me.
A brief history: ate on train to NYC. Two lovely muscular members of the US soldiery took one suitcase each (I would have had a hemorrhage) carrying them!) at Grand Central, called me a taxi in the predatory crowd, accompanied me to the hotel & left me at the desk with all good wishes. So I didn’t have to lift a finger! I was really touched.
Barbizon is exquisite – green lobby, light cafe-au-lait woodwork, plants, etc. Whooshed up to the 15th floor* where I have the darlingest single (we all do) imagineable. Green wall-to-wall rug, pale beige walls, dark green bed-spread with rose-patterned ruffle, matching curtains, a desk, bureau, closet, and white enameled bowl growing like a convenient mushroom from the wall. Bath, shower, toilet, a few doors down the hall. Radio in wall, telephone by bed – and the view!
From my window I look down into gardens, alleys, to the rumbling 3rd avenue El, down to the UN, with a snatch of the east River in between buildings! At work at night at my desk I look down into a network of lights, and the sound of car horns wafts up to me like the sweetest music. I love it.
The other guest eds are intriguing – about four are superlatively beautiful (could be Paris models) – the rest are attractive, vital, varied & intelligent from all over the U.S. – we even have a Mormon among us!
Monday we breakfasted at the drug store downstairs where I can get fruit juice, egg, 2 pieces of toast, & coffee for 50¢ – good & substantial. My worst experience was getting all dressed up in my suit, just ready to go, and suddenly having a malicious nosebleed – all over my suit (which is now at the hotel cleaners.) Wore my brown dress instead.
Whooshed up to the 6th floor of 575 Madison, spent morning with other Eds filling out endless forms & job data in mirrored dk. green & pink conference room which is our head-quarters – interviews were scheduled with Eds of Depts. we were interested in – I talked with Rita Smith, Fiction Editor (also sister of Carson MacCullers!*) – Polly Weaver,* Jobs & Futures Ed (who had my job on Press Board when she was at Smith) and Betsy Talbot Blackwell,* fabulous Editor in Chief.
For lunch, we split up among the Eds, who took us out. 3 of us went to the Drake room* with BT Blackwell & Cyrilly Abels,* (managing ed.) It was thrilling: sat in dark plush room, sipped sherry, plowed through enormous delectable chef’s salad, discussed writers, magazines, all sorts of exciting things.
Afternoon – rewrote poetry squibs* again, pictures taken of all of us for “Jobiographies feature” – Don’t mind the violent ink, but I just ran out & had to borrow. Anyhow, I’ve worked in the office till 6 all 3 nights so far at last, today, Cyrilly Abels pronounced my poet-feature ready to go to the proof-room – when I see the work & research some of the other guest eds had to go through during their exams I consider m
yself fortunate.
Monday I unpacked dresses (formal came today) after a late, exhausted supper in the cafeteria downstairs. Yesterday a.m. we saw our first (my first) fashion show at the Roosevelt Hotel.*
It was exquisite – all the clothes to be featured in the August issue – all really lush – gorgeous models – all campus fashions, music, Princeton singers, exhibit of styles – I listened avidly, learned lots & lots.
Lunch at plush Oyster Bar in Grand Central* – afternoon – worked & finished another poets write-ups.
Assignments announced – one of my best friends from Washington State is Ed-in-Chief* – I’m Managing Ed & moved my typewriter into Cyrilly Abels office today. At first I was disappointed at not being Fiction Ed, but now that I see how all-inclusive my work is, I love it.
I work in her office, listen surreptitiously to all her conversations on telephone & in person, read all copy – & probably do a lot of “managing” – deadlines, dirty work, etc. – but it’s fun – her secretary* is a girl I knew at Smith last year, so all is relatively un-tense now, almost homey, in fact.
I have to write comments on all the stuff I read – just got through criticizing Elizabeth Bowen’s speech* she gave the very day I talked to her – intellectually stimulating – also will have a chance to criticize poetry, etc., so my fiction interests are included here, too.
Last night, typed up final draft of poets to count till late. Deadlines should slacken soon. Will work hard, but love it.
All morning we spent at the mall in lovely Central park having our pictures taken in star formation, looking up, dressed in Mlle’s own tartan skirts, shirts & caps – very cute – all 20 of us.
During lunch, I discovered a Child’s on 5th Ave,* love it – good reasonable food – probably will haunt it often. Great fruit salad, pea soup & croutons & buttermilk for $1.10. Healthy & tasty.